Cracked Dreams (27 page)

Unfortunately for Spits, he didn't share the same distress and confusion that Don P. had regarding the news. He knew exactly who it was that had splattered Trigger's brains all over the interior of his truck, but he wouldn't be able to let them know that at this point. The events surrounding those tragic circumstances would never be revealed to anyone besides Rachel, Red, and Spits himself. There were things that nobody needed to know that led to Trigger's death, and that would eternally be between him and Trigger. It was nobody else's business.

When the silence was finally broken, Poncho said, “Yo, we got them niggas over there looking all over the place trying to find out who did this shit, but we haven't heard anything yet. That nigga Red said that this situation will take top priority.”

Spits heard that and knew for a fact that if they were waiting for Red to give them an update about this shit that they would be waiting forever. “This bitch-ass nigga that did this shit will not live a day past the day we find his ass, you hear me?”

“No doubt,” Poncho replied.

“Word up!” El Don agreed.

“Listen, we gonna have to talk about this shit later when my head is on straight, my niggas,” Spits said, trying to quickly get rid of them before Ginger caught wind of this news before he had a chance to let her know. “I'ma holla at ya'll cats when I get a little settled, you know?”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Poncho said. “This ain't exactly the kind of shit you want to hear coming home from vacation, and shit. Just holla, dog, and we there for whatever.”

“Word up,” El added. “All you gotta do is holla, son.”

As Spits let out a deep sigh of relief that he was able to successfully complete his first confrontation regarding Trigger, he walked toward the door before he was stopped by Poncho's call. When he turned back unsuspecting of what was left unsaid, he found out that there was more that he didn't know.

“Yo, in case you ain't talk to Cee, ain't nobody seen that nigga on the Block in a couple of days,” Poncho said. “He had put us on to a situation about some beef, and we handled that shit, but we ain't seen the nigga since. If you hear anything from him, let us know.”

“All right then,” Spits said. “One.”

“One.”

Spits used the five seconds it took for him to insert his key in the lock and open the door to try and figure out how he would explain what had happened to Trigger to Ginger. Although nothing had come to his mind yet, he opened the door anyway. Upon entering the house, he realized that those five seconds were wasted as Ginger had never left the front of the door and had been listening to the entire conversation. When she'd left them alone to come into the house, her curiosity kept her behind the door where she could hear what they were talking about. When she'd heard what happened, she'd taken a seat on the floor on the left side of the door, and had begun crying into her own lap. It wasn't until Spits heard her
sniffles that he turned back to find her there. He bit his top lip and took a deep breath. As he walked back to where Ginger was sitting on the floor, she looked up at him and they shared a bewildered glare.

Ginger looked as if she needed further clarification. She needed for Spits to tell her what was going on in a way that made sense to her. Everything that was happening all at the same time was too much for her to handle. There were so many blanks in the story that didn't make any sense. There were so many questions to be answered. While her mind thought of different circumstances and scenarios to try and put these events together, all Ginger could do was stare at Spits with an incomplete look on her face.

The look that Spits returned was similar, but it wasn't the same. The expression that Spits wore on his face was more like suspicion. He thought that Ginger was only looking at him the way she was because she had figured out what had happened, and she was only waiting for it to come out of Spits' mouth. He thought that she had put two and two together and knew that Spits had something directly to do with Trigger's death. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach that would just get worse and worse. He was at a loss for words. There was no explanation that could justify his wrongdoing. He could do nothing but stare at Ginger with an incomplete look on his face.

“How did this happen?” Ginger asked.

Spits didn't want to answer too quickly because he was still not sure of what she had already put together in her mind. “What you mean, Gin?” he asked, so that she could further clarify her question.

“How could these horrible things be happening to everybody that is so close to you? And all at the same time?” she asked. “I don't understand how, first, this awful thing happens to your sister Rachel. Then, once that's under control, it's like . . .life just throws another curve ball your way. I feel so sorry for you, baby. I don't understand how so many bad things could happen to someone with a heart as good as yours.”

All Spits could do was gaze into her eyes. Everything she was saying was coming from her heart. He'd had the complete wrong impression of her attitude. She wouldn't dare think anything negative about him. The only thing that was confusing to her was how he would be able to handle it. That's
it. The thought brought a tear to his eye. Her words actually started to make him believe that he was the person she was describing. She loved him so much that the thought that he had anything to do with Trigger's death wouldn't even cross her mind. That's the level of dedication she had for him.

Although Spits was unable to control his first reaction to the statements that Ginger had just made, he knew that if she was going to recover successfully, she would have to know for a fact that he would be all right. In order for him to accomplish that, he would have to be strong and control his emotions. He wiped the tears from her face and sat next to her on the floor. He put his arm around her so that she could lay her head on his shoulder. There they sat for the next thirty to forty-five minutes, just thinking in silence. From there, they would make their way up to the bedroom for a well-deserved rest.

Early the next morning, Spits would be awakened by the sound of music playing in the bathroom. He got up and found Ginger in the shower.

“I didn't mean for you to wake up so early, honey,” she said. “I found a message from my mother on the voicemail and she said that I should be on my way to her place as soon as I get back. We have a long way to go to get to Florida. Are you going to be okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I'll be cool, Gin,” he answered as he washed his face. “You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine.”

“I'm sorry I woke you up, baby,” Ginger said. “I would've only woken you to say bye when I was on my way out. I already called a cab to take me upstate.”

“It ain't nothin', Mommy,” he said as he brushed his teeth. “I'ma be i-ight, sweetie.”

“I'd hate to leave you if you didn't feel better,” she said.

“Please.” Spits shrugged off her comment and walked back toward the bedroom. “I'm going back to sleep.”

“Wait!” Ginger said, calling him back. “I'm going to miss you a whole lot, baby. Give me a kiss good-bye.”

They kissed and Spits made his way back to the bed after saying, “Have a good time, baby. And, umm . . .I'll be missing you, too . . .more than anything, sweetie. Love you.”

“Yo, you ain't heard shit from this nigga Cee yet?” I asked Poncho while in my car on the way to meet up with him and El.

“Nah,” Ponch responded. “He must've bounced after that hit, or some shit. Maybe he thought it was gonna be too hot in the streets, ya na'mean?”

“I don't know about that, dog,” I said. “Sounds kind of thin, you know. Why wouldn't he holla to let us know what was up?”

“I can't call it, dog.” Ponch still was unable to satisfy my curiosity. “Probably he got a bad vibe, or somethin'.”

“Bad vibe like what? What you mean by that? Ya'll niggas ain't never mention nothin' about that whole Roscoe situation, right?”

“Nah. I mean . . .I don't know. I ain't like you, dog. I can't just be around a nigga that I can't trust and be one hundred percent comfortable, and shit. I'm not the actor type.”

“What?!” I spat as my temper started to rise. “Yo, we ain't never get to the bottom of none of that shit this nigga Roscoe was talkin'. Ain't no actin' over here, dog. He's still my man, you know? I ain't just gonna shit on him off the strength of some bitch-ass nigga that would've said anything to save his own ass.”

“I-ight, fam,” Poncho said, trying to calm me down. “Relax. All I'm sayin' is that I ain't trust that nigga since that shit went down. I don't know for a fact, but maybe that is why he just disappeared like that . . .ha-ha . . .if that's what's up, that mu'fucka's a bitch-ass nigga!”

“Yo, son!” I yelled. “Just remember that this shit here was poppin' way before you, nigga! Don't ever forget that shit!”

“My bad, nigga.” Poncho tried to conceal a small nervous chuckle. “I was just talkin' shit, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever! Just meet me at the spot, i-ight. One.”

A few days had passed since Ginger and I had gotten back from Hawaii and things had just started to calm down as far as that whole Trigger thing, but you could tell that there was still some tension in the air. Besides the shit with Trigger, nobody had seen or heard from Ceelow in a week. If you let Don P. tell it, he either left 'cause he thought we was gonna do him, or 'cause he thought the streets was too hot. Either way, the shit just didn't make any sense to me. First of all, if it was something as mediocre as him fleeing from the heat in the streets, he would've known that he could holla at me to let me know what's up. Secondly, if I knew Cee like I thought, finding out that we was about to murder him would have just made him jump off first. One thing about Cee, he wasn't no bitch-ass nigga. That's probably what made Poncho act in a funny way with me. They must've thought I was scared of the nigga, or somethin'. Ever since that Roscoe shit had gone down, they'd been different. It was like I was just supposed to take him out with no questions asked. On some real shit, I knew that Cee was a hard-head nigga, but he wasn't stupid enough to think he could just take on the entire family. Just the thought of it sent a shiver through my spine. I wasn't afraid of Cee . . .but, I was afraid of what might happen if we had to get it on.

Well, now it was New Year's Eve and we were about to jump off this New Year's party without my nigga Cee, and that shit was stressing me the fuck out. Everybody that I started this shit with wasn't going to be with me when I thought it was my highest point. I felt like I was peaking, and it seemed like everyone that I loved wouldn't be able to enjoy it with me. Everybody that I once trusted with my life from the beginning of all of this shit wasn't with me, and I hadn't yet figured out how to deal with that. In any event, the show had to go on, so I had to adjust really fast.

When the time was finally near for the most anticipated bash of the year,
there was a huge buzz on the street. With all of the rumors already in heavy rotation, we just knew that we would have to dead all of the gossip and blow everybody's expectations out of the water. Until the flyers hit the street to promote the festivities, no one could've imagined in a million years what the night would hold. Niggas got really hype when they found out the location and concept.

These dudes out here wouldn't have imagined where this shit was going to jump off. When niggas found out that it was poppin' off in the Times Square area of Manhattan, they said, “That's serious!” When they found out it was happening in the Marriott Marquis Hotel, they was like, “And these niggas is not playin'!” But when they heard that it was going down in The View, the rotating restaurant located at the very top of the hotel, all they could say was, “Whoa!”

Aside from the bangin' location, the whole theme of the party is what really made the shit live. I figured that the hottest shit in the world would be to have the dirtiest niggas in New York, in the middle of Times Square, at the top of the Marriott Marquis, looking the cleanest they've ever looked. So, I decided that this would be a White on White event. When the invitations got sent out, the heading read:

“Pure and Uncut”

The Time Bombs Presents, “I'm Dreamin' of a White New Year's”

In order for you to enter the bash of the century, to end the century, you would be required to be dipped head to toe in pure white clothing. It didn't matter if you wore a full-length mink or a pair of shell-top Adidas, as long as it was clean, and as long as it was as white as a brick of uncut Colombian.

It was now 4 p.m., and I was on my way to meet up with Don P. to make sure that everything was going according to plans over at the spot. I told Don P. to meet me there just to make certain that I didn't forget anything, but this nigga Ponch was getting on my fuckin' nerves about Cee. They would just assume to think that shit was sweet, and I wasn't feelin' that at
all. But, when it came down to it, all of that was neither here nor there. I had to focus on the situation at hand.